


the gift that keeps on giving

by CGotAnAccount



Series: ADVENTure Is Out There! [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Fraud?, Disaster gay Shiro, M/M, Matt Holt is a bad friend, Or maybe the best friend., SHEITH - Freeform, Shenanigans, and his dignity, suspicious keith, the man just wants his gift cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: “I don't even know what to get them,” Shiro whines, letting his head thump onto the counter as Matt chews unsympathetically. “What are you supposed to do for people you barely know and don't particularly like?”Matt doesn't even bother to look up from his tablet as he shrugs.“I dunno, gift cards?”
Relationships: Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Matt Holt & Shiro
Series: ADVENTure Is Out There! [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558660
Comments: 36
Kudos: 190





	the gift that keeps on giving

**Author's Note:**

> ADVENTure day 9! I'm not sorry.

“I don't even know what to get them,” Shiro whines, letting his head thump onto the counter as Matt chews unsympathetically. “What are you supposed to do for people you barely know and don't particularly like?”

Matt doesn't even bother to look up from his tablet as he shrugs.

“I dunno, gift cards?”

Shiro huffs, rolling his head to the side to pout at the unconcerned profile of Matt's face.

“But I don't like them enough to get those Visa ones, you have to start at like twenty-five bucks.”

He gets another eye roll as Matt continues scrolling.

“Just get them like Starbucks or something, everybody drinks coffee.”

“I don't,” Shiro sniffs, ever petulant.

“And look what it's reduced you too.” Matt's tone is as mild as ever, but Shiro can tell by the twitch of his eye that he's treading on thin ice. “They have tea and snacks anyway.”

All he can do is huff again, bereft of the sympathy a _good_ friend would have given him. Next time he'll just go complain to Colleen and get cookies for his pain.

Unfortunately, better ideas don't magically beam themselves into his head from the sky and Shiro finds himself trudging through the doors of that festive corporate beverage hellscape. He hadn't even known there was one just a few blocks away from them until Matt insisted he go there because he claimed it was 'at least thirty percent faster than the average line wait time' – and Shiro hadn't wanted to earn his ire by doubting the veracity of his research.

Either way, it's about as painful as he had anticipated. Gaggles of humans asking for things with far too many requests and too few harried employees with their dead-eyed smiles rushing to fill the orders. He tries to keep his head down and eyes on his phone as the line shuffles forward at a pace he can neither confirm nor deny is faster than average. Six or seven minutes later he finds himself standing in front of a rack of cards, all merrier than the last.

There's a squeak and a pained grunt shortly after he shuffles up to the line, pocketing his phone and attempting his best 'I've been here before and know what I'm doing' face.

He looks up into the eyes of a startling beautiful boy rubbing at his ribs with a scowl.

There's dark bangs framing his face and a tiny ponytail poking out from the back of his green cap, instantly endearing itself to Shiro in a way that he normally reserves for kittens. The boy's eyes are dark, like galaxies staring up at him – if galaxies could look like they want to be elsewhere.

“Can I help you?”

His voice is even better, lower than Shiro expected and just a little bit raspy. He wants to hear it when he wakes up and when he falls asleep... and every moment in between.

He can feel the heat creeping into his cheeks as his brain abruptly disengages.

“Hi.”

Those pretty, perfect lips pull into a tired approximation of a smile.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Uhh?” Shiro blinks at him, mind utterly devoid of the nature of his task. “I... think so?”

There's a wheezing snort from the other employee who stands against the far wall, turned away as they stand on their toes to lever things into a cup. It's the same kind of derisive sound he can picture Matt making at him at this very moment.

“I- I mean...” he stammers, looking around at the counter for a clue as the dark haired beauty raises an eyebrow. The little plastic rectangles covered in snowmen and reindeer catch his eye again – his very own Christmas miracle. “I needed these.”

He jabs a finger at the display covered in the festive items and wonders what the most effective way to throw himself out the window would be after this pathetic attempt at human interaction.

The hat tilts as the epitome of good looks leans forward to peer around at the display before looking back up to Shiro with an arched brow.

“The gift cards?”

Shiro manages a nod in return, dropping his arm to fumble with his wallet.

“Okay.”

Long fingers reach out and tap something in the computer in front of him before pausing, obviously waiting for something. The moment drags on as he looks at Shiro and Shiro looks back, internally panicking and wishing he just made fudge. Shiro offers him a weak smile, hoping the universe takes pity on him and gives him a sudden stroke. It doesn't, but the guy does.

“You can pick which one you want,” he prompts, mouth quirking up at the corner. He reaches around to point at different ones. “Some are more generic and less... jolly.”

“Oh.”

Shiro recognizes at this moment that he's supposed to pick something... but that would require looking away from that hint of a smile and those eyes now sparkling with suppressed laughter. Even if it's laughter at his expense it's still gorgeous.

“Do you like squirrels?” the guy asks, lifting up one of the cards with frolicking woodland creatures in scarves and mittens. Shiro nods, and the guy nods with him. “Cool, this one is my favorite... that good?”

Shiro nods again.

The back of the person making coffee is shaking now, coffee sloshing over the sides of the cup and onto their hands. It doesn't matter, the pretty boy is smiling again as he pulls the card over to the register.

“How much on it?”

“Uhh...” Shiro blinks at him, brain attempting to reengage as it recognizes a question that requires real input. “I need like... five?”

Dark eyebrows wrinkle in confusion.

“Five cards or five dollars?”

Shiro hesitates, then shrugs.

“Both?”

The brows wrinkle further, fingers hesitating on the screen.

“Like... five on each for a total of twenty-five or one on each for a total of five?”

“I... guess twenty-five?”

Honestly, he'd prefer the second option, but that would probably be a dick move – even if he doesn't like these people in the first place.

“Okay.” A few quick taps and a bit of swiping and the cards are all tucked into neat little envelopes... but the guy is still staring at him expectantly. Shiro stares back. “...cash or credit?”

“Oh!” He fumbles with the wallet forgotten in his hands, fishing out a card as he tries to ignore the flare of heat on his face. “Sorry, credit.”

“No problem, sir.” The guy swipes his card and hands it back with the receipt and the stack of cards, all in a neat little pile that doesn't quite account for the level of social pain Shiro has just experienced. “Anything else today?”

Shiro hesitates, wanting to bask a little longer in the presence of this man.

Someone in line behind him sighs.

“Oh, no... thank you.”

He shoves a random bill in the jar on the desk and scoops his things up, shuffling away with his head down and dignity tattered. An older woman in line clucks her tongue and pats his arm on the way by.

“Don't worry dearie,” she whispers low but somehow still too loud, like only old crones can manage. “Keith has that effect on a lot of the younger ones.”

“K-keith?” Shiro stammers, still blushing as he glances back at the counter.

“Mhmm.” She pats his arm again before nodding sagely. “He's here until three most weekdays.”

He thinks he manages to stammer out a thank-you before opening the door to a wall of icy wind and equally chilling clarity. The woodland creatures on the cards in his hands stare up at him, mocking.

He can never go back.

Matt laughs himself sick when Shiro recounts his sudden loss of all higher brain function, nearly crying into the mug of hot cocoa he'd made for them when Shiro stumbled in still shell-shocked.

“Oh my god Shiro, you grunted at him?”

“Pretty much,” Shiro moans, dragging a hand down his face. “He probably thinks I have like head trauma or something... his coworker was laughing so hard they nearly spilled the coffee they were making.”

“His coworker, huh?” Matt grins, sly and overly curious about Shiro's misery. “So there were witnesses to your shame then?”

“So many witnesses.” Shiro lets his head thump back onto the table, resigning himself to a life as a pathetic gay shut-in to avoid future humiliation. “Half the line probably made me a meme by now.”

“It could have been worse,” Matt tries to console him, reaching out to pat Shiro on the cheek. “You could have forgotten that you wanted to get gift cards for all the service workers in your lives.”

Shiro freezes.

Matt's smile grows by a few molars.

“Because I'm sure you remembered them, didn't you Shiro?” He's looking particularly shark-like as he leans down into Shiro's bubble of misery. “You didn't just buy them for the coworkers you don't like, right?”

Shiro's lower lip wobbles.

“Can't I just go back to a different store?” He squeaks out, eyes slipping shut to avoid the look of sadistic glee on his best friend's face. “I can't show myself in there again.”

“I didn't know you were a quitter,” Matt says mildly, slurping his cocoa for emphasis. “I figured you'd want to prove you're not a neanderthal for the pretty boy.”

“His name is Keith,” Shiro definitely doesn't sigh, pride prickling a bit at Matt's needling. “And it's not like it matters, he just sold me gift cards.”

“Uh-huh.” Matt smirks, raising an eyebrow at him as he continues the long, obnoxious slurping. “And that's why you're being a big baby about this whole thing and considering going across town to wait in an even longer line just to save yourself what might be five minutes of either embarrassment or redemption, right?”

“Shut up,” Shiro groans, rolling his head far enough to squint up at Matt's stupid slurping face. “You wouldn't understand, you weren't there.”

Matt shrugs, letting the empty mug clink back onto the counter as he hops off the stool.

“Alright then, suit yourself.” He ambles away down the wall before pausing at his door, turning to throw a barbed grin over his shoulder. “But I'll know if you don't.”

Shiro scowls and lets his face roll into the counter.

Three days later he finds himself staring down the green awnings of the building that houses the physical manifestation of his shame. Today they're decorated in these cute little string lights for the holidays that he hadn't noticed while trudging in the first time. He wonders briefly if the beautiful boy had to hang them there on a ladder, then realizes standing in front of the door like a lunatic isn't really helping his whole redemption plan.

Maybe he'll get lucky, and the guy won't be there... but then he won't get to see him again and prove that he can in fact string together a complete sentence. Neither option is particularly appealing, but he's already here.

The door jingles merrily as he opens it and steps into the warmth to eye the line. It's not quite as long as he might have expected, but it is only just after one in the afternoon – not his usual time to run errands, but running them after three just seem so... tiring. He fiddles with his phone for a moment before steeling himself and looking up toward the counter, only to witness the short employee from the other day shoving Keith up to the counter before scurrying to steam some milk. It draws a frown to Shiro's face, to think about someone so patient working in such a soul crushing job, and then he has to deal with harassment from all sides... it's not right, the man is too good looking to suffer the ogling of the general public.

But Shiro doesn't know his life, he's just a very gay fool trying to get his gift cards and the tattered scraps of his dignity from a coffee shop. He keeps his eyes fixed on the display, determined to project competence – and to not get distracted by a pretty face this time. Before he knows it he's next, hands sweating profusely as he stares at the cards with laser focus.

Oh god. What if he grabs them and they slip out of his hands because they're so slippery? What if he manages to drip hand sweat on the display and Keith sees it and thinks he's got some sort of weirdly moist condition?

Sweat breaks out along his hairline at the thought.

“I can help who's next.”

His voice is even sweeter than Shiro remembers and it throws him out of his panic spiral enough to look him in the eyes.

“That's me.” Shiro stutters, eyes wide as while his feet refuse to move.

Keith blinks at him, then cocks his head.

“Uh... yes?” He fiddles with a pen on the desk, never breaking eye contact as Shiro feels a bead of sweat roll down his temple. “Can I get you anything?”

“Gift cards,” Shiro grunts, hand shooting out of its own volition to snatch an assorted handful from the display. The force is enough to send it teetering, nearly careening off the counter before Shiro flails forward to right it. He only looks up again once it's fully settled, catching Keith's bewildered stare. The other employee is laughing at him again, but at least they still have the decency not to do it to his face “These.”

“Oookay...” Keith drawls, gingerly plucking the gift cards from Shiro's limp fingers. “How much on these?”

Shiro waffles for a moment, unsure of how much is standard for a hairdresser or garbage man.

“Maybe... ten?”

Keith's mouth pulls to the side, like he knows where they're going and he's judging Shiro for being miserly to the poor service people that have to encounter his disaster of an existence on a regular basis.

“Or... fifteen?”

Those perfect lips press into a flat line.

“Would you prefer ten or fifteen, sir?”

Oh god, _sir._ Shiro nearly shivers at the way the words ricochet up his spine, flaring his cheeks into a beacon to tell the world about his newly discovered weakness. He can picture those words in that voice under different circumstances, maybe with those eyes looking up at him through thick lashes as Keith bites that plush lip, or maybe...

Maybe when he's not looking at Shiro, eyebrows raised and head tilted, waiting for his brain to come back online.

“Fifteen,” Shiro blurts and instantly feels his soul escape from his bank account. He dies inside a little more with every card Keith swipes, feeling his heart shrivel entirely when he hands over his own. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Keith hums, deftly packaging them in their little envelopes before handing them over. “Your receipt is tucked in there sir, have a good day.”

Shiro thinks his tongue trips over a 'you too' as he bumps into a chair on his way out the door.

“Seriously?”

Matt's not quite laughing at his pain this time as Shiro trudges in with a grimace.

“I panicked,” Shiro croaks, slumped onto the couch with his pants still snow-damp. He doesn't deserve to be comfortable. “And thought that maybe he would know and think I was cheap...”

“...Shiro.” Matt's lips are pursed when Shiro rolls his neck to look at him mournfully. “ _How_ would he know what those were for?”

“I don't know!” He lets his hands flop onto the couch beside him, slithering himself lower onto the cushions. “Don't service workers have like a sixth sense for when someone is terrible?”

“Yeah,” Matt scoffs, eyes permanently stuck in a roll. “It's called the tip.”

“ _Oh no,_ ” Shiro gasps, scrambling up in his seat and gaping in horror at Matt. “I didn't leave him a tip!”

Matt's blink is insultingly slow.

“For gift cards?”

“For dealing with me,” Shiro moans, planting his face in his hands. “Now he's going to think I'm an idiot _and_ an asshole.”

“Shiro, you don't need to tip on gift cards... didn't you accidentally leave him a ten last time anyway?”

“I don't even know anymore...”

His whole life is a lie, social skills in shambles as everything falls apart around him. Maybe it was a ten, maybe he never even had a ten. Maybe he can't even count to ten anymore. They should probably revoke his credentials and send him back to grade school.

“I need to go back there and apologize.”

Matt startles at that, obviously alarmed by the wild look in his friend's eyes.

“Shiro... what would you even apologize for?”

“I dunno-” Shiro shakes his head, flailing his hands up and down his body. “Me?”

“You can't just...” Matt trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose as the esteemed Takashi Shirogane, top of his class, has a melt down over a pretty boy and some gift cards. “You need a reason to go back there.”

“But I don't drink coffee!” The hand wringing intensifies as Shiro imagines trying to smile through a mouthful of sugary brackish water. “He'll know I'm a liar then too!”

“They sell t-”

“I can't do it, Matt. I can't lie to someone's face like that.”

Matt snaps his jaw shut with a click, expression flattening out into the picture of serenity as he tries not to grind his molars and his roommate to a pulp.

“You're right, Shiro,” he soothes, voice gentle like he's trying to calm a wild animal. “If it matters to you that much you'll just have to think of another reason to go back that isn't consumable... or just... let it go.”

Shiro's shoulders lower just a touch as he considers Matt's words. He could just walk away, cut his losses and save himself the inevitable embarrassment. It would be so easy to never enter that coffee shop again – after all he hadn't even known it was there after living in this neighborhood for years. It would _so_ easy to just... forget this all happened.

But he knows those gorgeous eyes will haunt his dreams. That smile that he saw once, and then managed to bungle away... Keith, who did his job so patiently and didn't even get a tip for helping his fool self through the most humiliating experiences of his life with grace.

No...

He steels himself and stands.

“Hey Matt... do your parents drink coffee?”

* * *

“I'm telling you, something weird is going on with that dude.” Keith shakes his head as he rinses out a pitcher. “Nobody gets that nervous ordering gift cards if it isn't money laundering.”

Pidge laughs beside him, pulling the scraggly ends of her hair out from where she'd hastily stuffed them into her hat.

“You've been watching too many of those true crime shows.”

Keith wrinkles his nose at her and dumps the water, leaving the pitcher to dry on the mat by the sink.

“You're telling me you think a guy like that has... what. Crippling social anxiety?” He scoffs, flexing his arm before dropping it with a sharp look. “No way... and it was twice in two different amounts, he just... grabbed a handful of them last time.”

Shrugging, Pidge flashes her teeth and jabs an elbow into Keith's ribs.

“Maybe he thought you were _cute_ and got nervous.”

That one gets an actual full laugh, loud enough to startle the patrons that never hear the usually restrained barista beyond the greeting and goodbye. Keith clutches his stomach as he leans against the steamer, giggling at Pidge's exasperated face.

“Good one, Pidgeon,” he snickers, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes as he reaches to sanitize the prep surfaces. “Adonis himself saw the apron and dirty hat hair and decided he just really couldn't handle coffee shop chic, you're so right.”

It earns him another pointy elbow.

“Is it so hard to believe your skinny emo twink look does it for people?” She scowls up at him, crowding into his space and bullying him toward the sink again. “You get more tips than most of us here without even cracking a smile.”

Keith rolls his eyes and pushes past her to dunk his rag again.

“That's because I know people don't want to talk when they haven't had their coffee.” He gives the counter a few swipes as he squints at her and leans down until they're nose to nose. “Some people appreciate being left alone.”

She intentionally steps on his foot for that one, huffing as she grabs her gloves and starts restocking.

“That still doesn't mean he's committing fraud five bucks at a time.”

“It was fifteen today,” Keith chimes in, back turned but unable to hide the smirk in his voice.

She pokes him in the kidney anyway.

“Whatever.” Pidge grunts, haphazardly filling the display. “Nobody launders money in Starbucks gift cards... he'd at least be using the Visa ones.”

Keith shrugs.

“Maybe he likes coffee?”

Pidge spins around, hands planted on her hips.

“He hasn't even ordered coffee... he probably doesn't even _like_ coffee.”

Keith widens his stance and plants his right back.

“Maybe because he'd have to give me a name to order coffee.”

“What.” She shakes her head, squinting at him like Keith is the dumbest human who has ever been allowed to speak. “He doesn't even have to give you his real name.” She shakes her head again, hands flying up to rub her temples as she glares at him. “He literally handed you his credit card... _with his name on it._ ”

Keith sniffs and rings his rag out into the sink.

“Coulda been a fake name on the card.”

Pidge's frustrated growl echoes off the chrome surfaces as she stomps into the back, hands thrown into the air. Keith blinks after her, then turns to the few patrons eyeing them curiously and shrugs before ducking his head to finish cleaning.

She stomps back out two minutes later, grimly triumphant with her phone in hand.

“He's real, see?”

She thrusts the phone into his face to show him the instagram page of one Taka.Shiro, tired grad student and part time physical trainer. Keith's not going to lie and say he's not immediately interested in both sweaty gym pics and the possibility that the guy isn't actually remedial, but more importantly...

“How do you know his name?” He cocks an eyebrow at his tiny feral coworker, smirking as the set of her mouth goes shifty. “I didn't tell you or show you his card.”

She glares up at him, lips pursing more and more until it looks like she doesn't have a mouth at all. He switches eyebrows with that stupid little grin that Lance does that he knows infuriates her, and waits.

Her eye starts to twitch.

He wiggles his eyebrows.

Her nose wrinkles, nonexistent mouth trembling in her tiny, tiny fury.

He lets his smirk grow, with all the teeth can manage.

“Fine!” She stomps, throwing her hands up in the air. “He's Matt's friend.”

Keith feels his eyebrows fly up his forehead in surprise. He's met Matt Holt... he's rounded a few bases with Matt Holt during one particularly interesting Holt dinner party with a bit too much boozy eggnog. Matt Holt doesn't befriend the slow, or the particularly shady.

“From where?” He presses, shooing her into the corner where they can whisper in relative peace. “I feel like I should have heard about him.”

Pidge scowls at him, squirming uncomfortably.

“You have,” she hisses, peering around at the counter. “He goes by Shiro... he's the one who lost his arm in Matt and Dad's accident, saved the car from spinning into a tree after they got clipped by that drunk driver. He lived with us for a little bit.”

“Oh shit.” Keith grimaces, feeling guiltier by the second. He'd heard about this guy – apparently some kind of boy scout type with a heart of gold that Colleen likes to sing the praises of at every opportunity, but that still doesn't explain one thing... “Why are you hiding from him then?”

Pidge tenses up again, shoulders hiking to her ears.

“I'm not hiding from him.”

The snort that explodes out of him is equally derisive and ungainly.

“Yeah, okay.” He reaches out to tug on the end of her hair. “That's why you shove me to the desk and hide in the corner with your hair all tucked up when he comes in... I thought you might've run over his dog.”

“Fuck off,” she grumbles, cheeks tinging an uncharacteristic pink. “Matt sent him in here to embarrass me... Shiro doesn't know where I work, he just thinks I'm his prodigy baby sister.”

“Aren't you?”

She stomps on his foot again – which, he thinks, is entirely uncalled for. At least she only weighs like eight pounds.

“You're a dick.” She glares up at him, cheeks still pink from the backhanded praise. For someone so unbearably correct all the time she certainly handles human contact worse than he does. “I don't want him and Matt to come bother me.”

And honestly, that's fair. Keith had to put a moratorium on Lance coming to the shop within a week of getting the job. He'd had to explain to Coran that he wasn't serving this particular customer because it was his insufferable roommate, and not anything to do with insubordination. The words 'honor' and 'life debt' had been thrown around before Coran had nodded solemnly and informed Lance that he was sorry but this particular barista was a conscientious objector to his presence... but that Hunk could take his order. Keith had been dedicated to doing his best for that man since, it's only fair he gives Pidge the same courtesy.

“Okay, fine.” Keith sighs, crossing his arms as he leans a hip against the counter. “I'll take care of him so you can pretend you don't exist... but that doesn't change the fact that he's acting really shady.”

“I know.” Pidge rubs her forehead, smearing a streak of leftover flour from her sleeve. “He's not usually this... weird.” She shrugs and eyes Keith up and down. “I've seen him give a presentation to a packed auditorium without breaking a sweat– the only thing I can think of is that he's very gay and you're passably his type.”

Keith scoffs.

“Back to that again?” He holds his arms out to the sides, putting himself on display with a flat look. “Brainiac McMuscles did not come in here to look at my apron.”

“It's not your apron he's looking at,” Pidge mutters, shaking her head as she walks away. “But suit yourself, investigate him for fraud for all I care... Shiro's clean as a whistle.”

He gets his chance a day later when the guy shows up just after the morning rush. Keith's barely had a moment to breathe since he got there and just about everything needs restocking and wiping down. Pidge looks about dead on her feet as she shuffles back to grab more of the seasonal cookie. He's tempted to slink back there with her, if for no other reason than to sit on something vaguely box-like and rest his aching feet.

But no. He can't because the guy is standing outside the tinted windows, apparently unaware that everyone in the shop can see him giving himself what must be one hell of a pep-talk as he paces back and forth. The chest slap seems excessive, especially after all the neck cracking, but Keith's never committed fraud before, so who knows? Money laundering must be pretty nerve wracking after all...

Keith waits there at the counter, idly wiping down the various surfaces as he waits for Takashi 'Heart of Gold and Totally Not A Criminal' Shirogane to finally slink inside. It only takes about two more minutes and all of Keith's willpower not to immediately raise an eyebrow at him and point to the perfectly translucent windows.

“Good morning,” he calls out instead, plastering on his best smile and aiming it at the suspect. “How can I help you?”

Shiro visibly startles at the lack of a line, staring at the end of the railing like it betrayed him, but he keeps going, sucking in a determined breath as he meet's Keith's eyes...

And immediately goes bright pink as Keith smiles over at him.

Interesting.

“I, um,” Shiro begins, tripping over his words but maintaining steady eye contact for the first time. “I need to get a gift card and... ah...”

Keith keeps smiling, nodding encouragingly at this guy who is probably still a criminal, but a criminal with pretty eyes. It's a shame he'll probably incriminate himself and break Pidge's heart.

“...and... apologize.” He finishes in a rush – red up to his ears now as Keith blinks at him - and elaborates at the blank stare. “You know, for being so awkward and... yeah... and I forgot to tip last time and-”

“What?” Keith cuts him off, resisting the urge to wiggle his pinkie in his ear while people can see him. “Nobody tips for gift cards.”

Shiro furrows his brow, nerves apparently washed away by sudden indignation.

“Why not?”

Keith blinks at him again, wondering if he's fallen into the twilight zone or if this is all some elaborate ruse to lower his guard so he won't report this guy to the IRS... like he'd even bother in the first place.

“I just... swipe them?” He shrugs, reaching out to pluck one from the stand. “See? That was the hardest part.”

“But you still have to deal with people... you're doing me a service,” Shiro argues, pout out in full force as he crosses his arms and scowls at the tip jar that has just a few measly bills. “It doesn't seem right.”

Keith can only shrug, not exactly wanting his corporate overlords to hear this conversation through whatever listening devices are probably stuck in the walls.

“Well, I won't stop you if you want to, but it's not a big thing.”

Ridiculously, the guy deflates, slumping in on himself as he plucks another card from the display.

“Well,” he mumbles, back to his evasion of eye contact. “Then I guess I'm just apologizing for being another weirdo you have to deal with.”

That one at least brings a genuine quirk of a smile to Keith's lips as he waves away the apology.

“Don't worry about it,” He jerks a thumb toward the bathrooms with a conspiratorial eyebrow. “At least you've never smeared cheese all over the bathroom walls or asked me for a non-dairy latte with extra cream.” Shiro's dawning look of horrified sympathy pulls a laugh from Keith and he leans across the counter to pat the guy on the hand. “Yeah, buddy... you're the easiest part of my day.”

“O-oh.”

The pink flush is back, making the scar on his nose stand out in stark relief as Shiro drags a hand through his hair. His relieved smile is like a punch in the gut with the way it transforms him from the awkward white collar criminal to the golden boy Pidge showed Keith on social media - who he definitely didn't internet stalk for an entire day.

“Well, good... glad I could help?”

“Yeah,” Keith huffs, still smiling as Shiro hands over the card. “How much today then?”

“Uhm... well,” Shiro hedges, mouth pulling at the corner as he actually looks at the menu for the first time. “I've never been here, but I actually like these two... how much do you need to come a few times and get... stuff?”

Keith has to smother the reflexive 'aw' at the face of consternation, he looks like an overgrown puppy.

“Well, if they drink big drinks, like... twenty bucks for a visit or two? If they get something to eat with it.” He shrugs and points at the cup sizes. “But if they get the smaller drinks or just come for tea or whatever that might cover like five?”

Shiro nods, face screwed up in thought as he pulls out his phone.

“Sorry, I really don't know, I gotta call my friend and check really quick.”

Raising an eye at the miraculous lack of a line, Keith shrugs again.

“Be my guest.”

It takes about two seconds for Keith to hear the phone ringing in stereo, and two more for him to turn around toward the doorway to the back with a growing smirk... and then comes Pidge's quiet curse and mumbled greeting.

Shiro brightens in front of him.

“Hi Katie!” He practically chirps as Keith smothers his manic grin at Pidge's actual name. “Sorry to bother you, I know you're probably busy with rocket science and stuff.”

Pidge's answering mumbles float through the door, and Keith floats to cloud nine with them, wishing only that he could record this moment to play back to her later.

“Right, right... okay I'll be quick! I need to know what kind of stuff your parents get from coffee shops – I'd ask Matt but he hasn't lived with them in years and would probably give me the wrong information just to see my horrified face at Christmas.”

Having been on the receiving end of Matthew Holt's 'help', Keith knows this is objectively the truth, and gains just a little more respect for how cheerfully practical Shiro is about his situation. It does make money laundering seem slightly less likely.

He hears more muttering from the back, quicker this time, and Shiro's brow wrinkles.

“Okay, so like hot chocolate for your mom and tea for your dad... but what sizes? Do they like whipped cream?” He squints at the chalkboard next to Keith's arm and throws him an apologetic grin. “Does she like the seasonal one? This says mint-whipped-mocha-choca... would she drink more than one of those a week?”

The mumbling from the back is sharper now, more exasperated, and Shiro winces, shoulders climbing. Keith feels a creeping pity, also having dealt with the smaller Holt's annoyance.

“O-oh... okay.” Shiro scuffs his toe against the linoleum and Keith wishes he could drag Pidge out by her ears so she could see the face she's caused. “So like... maybe just enough for like one day a week for a few weeks, or...?”

The door behind Keith bursts open as Pidge stomps out, arms raised.

“For god's sake Shiro.” She slaps her hands down on the counter, wild eyed. “They'll love you no matter what crappy coffee gift card you get them, just stick with the twenty and tell Keith you think he's cute!”

Then she's storming back through the door, like the world's smallest tornado leaving them floored in her wake.

Keith can only laugh, then cringe when he turns back to his flabbergasted customer.

“So uh,” he starts with a chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Pidge works here.”

“I... yeah.” Shiro looks like he's been hit by a truck as he lowers his phone from his ear and slides it into his pocket. “Guess she does.”

They stare at each other for a moment in mutual silent discomfort until Keith glances back down at the cards in his hand.

“Did you still want these?”

Shiro looks at them and winces, pulling out his card before dropping his gaze again.

“Yeah, I'll just... twenty.”

Keith looks at them and back to Shiro.

“So uh, not that I'm telling you this as an employee, but you don't need to get Colleen and Sam separate cards you know... you can just do twenty for one.”

Shiro looks up from his shoes, pink but curious.

“You know the Holts... besides Katie?”

Keith shrugs, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I've been unofficially press-ganged into the family by Colleen... she's actually told me a lot about her other son Shiro.” He feels his own cheeks heating at he gathers his courage and leans his elbows onto the counter. “She never told me he was the child that got all the good genes though.”

The words startle another smile from Shiro, shy this time as he hands over his card.

“Well, she never told me she adopted another handsome stray either.”

Huffing a laugh, Keith takes the card, head ducked to hide his blushing grin. He makes quick work of the packaging and prints out the receipt, scribbling his number down on the bottom before handing it back.

“Here you go, sir.” He throws Shiro a wink as the other man colors up to his ears. “Feel free to call me if you need any more Holt advice... or want to go get something to drink that isn't coffee.”

Shiro gapes at the scribble, then whips his head up, nodding so hard Keith's afraid he's going to give himself whiplash.

“Absolutely.” He beams at Keith, folding the receipt and tucking it inside his wallet like it's something precious. “I.. yeah... are you free Saturday?”

Pidge pokes her head out of the back with a flat look on her face.

“Shiro, you're my brother, but if you don't stop flirting at my counter and call this man later I'm going to come right over it and kneecap you.”

The man pales and takes a step back from the counter, bumping into a chair as he throws Keith a wave and a silly smile.

“I'll call you later.”

“Okay,” Keith laughs, waving back as Shiro walks out the door...

And proceeds to do a leaping fist pump in front of the absolutely not double tinted windows, walking down the sidewalk with two hands raised in triumph like a victorious prize fighter.

“That's what you're gonna be stuck with, you know.” Pidge deadpans from his elbow. “He never gets less embarrassing.”

Keith smiles down at her, shrugging. If an abundance of enthusiasm and a dash of gay panic are the worst things about Shiro he'll be happy to take one for the team - and maybe not tell him about the whole money laundering thing until the fifth or sixth date...


End file.
